Do You Take This Man?

We attended our second gay wedding on Saturday. (I'm refusing to call it "civil ceremony" - to all intents and purposes it's a marriage, and thus I'm sticking to "wedding").

We had to travel into the wilds of Essex… hang on…sorry, a little bit of sick just came up into my mouth. I have to admit that our friends live in a particuarly nice part of that grotty little county, far away from the spray-tanned, peroxide-maned masses (I'm talking about the Essex Male, obviously). I've mentioned our friends before, and if you've paid any attention to this story you'll probably have an incling of what was on their mind when they decided to invite a small group of filthy-minded homosexuals to their wedding, forcing them to mingle with their families, and then getting them spectacularly drunk.

We were on the gay table (quite literally later on, but more of that in a bit), with an incredibly gregarious northerner who we'd see around once or twice before, and three other guys who we'd not met, including a "just out" 20 year old cousin who wanted deperately to mix with the "old queens". Harumph! The wedding itself was terribly proper, and very formal. In fact, it followed the typical straight model, apart from having two (hilarious) best man speeches.

After the food the disco started, and someone had obviously told the DJ it was a gay event as he wheeled out one cliched anthem after another. YMCA? Check. Dancing Queen? Check. The Time Warp? Check. The list goes on, trust me. In fact, it became apparent that he only had wedding reception music, as he brought out the big guns - the Grease Megamix, Saturday Night, and Love Shack. Kylie, Madonna and Cher also made at least one appearance each.

So, we got drunk, we danced, we mingled, and then the evening guests started to arrive, including a very tall, well-built Scot, who seemed to be some sort of octopus in disguise, judging by the roving hands.

Finally I got to the point where I needed a break from being sociable (being the natural born loner that I am), so I headed out into the quiet part of the garden on the other side of the house, found the furthest corner to be desserted, and sat in a garden chair looking at the stars. I was soon joined by one of the grooms (formerly known as "The Policeman Who Won't Stop Cumming"). I consider him to be one of the sexiest guys I know, and one of the nicest. We spent a lovely 10 minutes chatting before being interrupted by the Gregacious Northerner, who said that My Favourite Groom's husband was looking for him. So off he went, but not before telling me I wasn't to go anywhere.

That left me in a quiet corner of the garden with the Gregarious Northerner, who promptly whipped out his (very excited looking) member and presented it to me. Well, what's a boy to do?
A short while later I wandered back in to the marquee that was home to the reception, to a knowing look from The Boyf. "Everyone's talking about you", he whispered. "I think word's got round". So I spent the next couple of hours being terribly well behaved.

Finally, the guests started to leave, until we were left with just both grooms, The Boyf and myself, the Gregarious Northerner, and the Scottish Octopus. And then it got really messy. My Favourite Groom and I made a quiet exit into the garden, but not before witnessing the Scottish Octopus being stripped and thrown onto a table, the decoration and assorted items crashing to the floor.

And then My Favourite Groom and I found ourselves back in our quiet corner of the garden, naked and intertwined, looking at the stars and at the first paling of the sky signalling the impending dawn. And a very lovely hour or so it was too. And do you know? Nothing happened between us, apart from the cuddling and the talking, and that suited us both just fine. It was one of those times I'll never forget.